AN: Had little problems with Yassen's character now that I read about the new book… He begins to get some features I know the original one hasn't. I've taken him over! D

Really, I'm not so happy with this chapter as I am with the first 2. But I hope the last one will be great

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It was an early and very cold winter morning in the Arkhangelsk region in northern Russia. About 50 kilometers from nearest town and 200 from nearest city, there was a road across the deep taigan forest that led in front of the massive gate covered with barbed wire. Beyond it the forest turned slowly into an open field where stood six 3-floored concrete-buildings – the main orphanage of the region. There, hidden from the eyes of the world, abandoned and forgotten, the legions of boys were raised to fill their destiny in the service of the Russian military forces and to die, usually very violently.

Today there was also a young man in long, black jacket, bareheaded despite the breezing northern wind, standing alone at the wide square in front of the main building. His ice-blue eyes watched silently the surroundings from the shadow of his blonde, windswept hair as another man was coming towards him from the building. Although his strong figure was a clear proof that he hadn't been raised there, something in him told the exactly opposite. All the boys of the orphanage had that same, somehow confused and lonely look beneath their unbreakable cover.

For Yassen, the moment was both strangely satisfying and extremely frightening. The place hadn't changed a bit since he had left it 7 years ago, and although he had, here it didn't matter. This was the place of his nightmares, the source of his deepest fears. Even the beautiful morning and the soft snow shining blindingly white in the morning sun reminded him of the past. Here, surrounded by snow and all alone, it was hard even for Yassen's thoughts – which usually were sharper than the finest razorblades – to keep his mind focused.

He was the winner here – it was all he needed to know. A slight, yet anything but soft smile spread into Yassen's pale face, making him look even lonelier and bitterer as well as very dangerous to the young man that was there to welcome him – it was the way his skin tightened over his chins as a result of the malnutrition of his childhood that no amounts of food could never completely heal. Yassen shook hands with the man, looking him straight in the eyes to find any signs of recognition. They were about the same age, so they had probably known each other back in childhood and Yassen knew that old friends could be ten times more dangerous than brand-new enemies if they turned out in the wrong time. To secure his cover, Yassen even explained the purpose of his visit adding a little foreign accent to his Russian to sound more like the people he knew SCORPIA usually sent to these places.

When he entered the building behind his guide and saw the old, dirty walls Yassen felt the fear-blended excitement raising its head. This had been his true goal from his early days at Malagosto Island, first in SCORPIA's private hospital and then through the endless hours of training. And look at him now – a fully trained assassin with SCORPIA's papers that always generated the atmosphere of trust and admiration around their owner in every orphanage and correctional institute around the world. With them he felt he was ready to face whatever waited him beyond those thick wooden doors.

Yassen didn't have problem with calling his visit "a mission". Actually he shouldn't be there at all – he had been given a fortnight's holiday he was expected to spend in France – so being there and doing things he knew he would soon do wasn't only against SCORPIA's rules, but also a way more risky than normal assignments. Without SCORPIA's acceptance he would be treated like a normal criminal, so getting caught here was anything but a good idea. KGB already had him connected with at least three assassinations.

Suprisingly, during the long hours of thinking in train on his way to the north Yassen had noticed that the possibility of being arrested and imprisoned didn't matter to him – neither did the possibility that he might need to shoot himself to hide his connections to SCORPIA and avoid becoming hanged as a murderer if everything went completely wrong. This was his mission, and he was ready to take full responsibilty of it in every way. It wouldn't be his loss in any case.

Yassen took a deep breath, filling every part of his body with ice-cold determination when trying to calm all the emotions that could disturb his concentration. The man in front of him stopped and knocked the door. This was the last chance to back up – but if he didn't do this, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

The door opened and a young boy stepped out, taking a short, fearful glance to Yassen. Yassen's face became completely emotionless at once, and his eyes began to gleam with rage. He spitted out a silent "Spasiba" to his guide and closed the door behind him. Five minutes later an entirely other man opened it again.

……………………….

In a way it was Yassen's first kill he committed in that beautiful morning. As he was walking away, leaving the body, the orphanage and – as he believed – his past behind, he tried to understand how he felt now. Was he happy, or sad, or able to feel anything at all? Had he finally passed the line and taken the step beyond humanity? But then the feeling came, suddenly as he was trying to protect his ears from the biting wind and at the same time waved to the man he had hired to drive him to the orphanage and back – it was burning, stomach-turning feeling, so familiar to him from his childhood.

Yassen had learnt that he must never hesitate or play any games with his target – faceless men, faceless bodies, no words because they were never necessary. Today Yassen had failed in that. He had waited too long, because his target had something he desperately wanted – the control over his life. How could he forget or carry on with his life without the knowledge that the man, his torturor, his nightmare had to beg mercy from him, that he had to recognize him, admit that he had become stronger, that he was the winner of this sick game… and because of that, he had lost to that man, and even more bitterly, to himself. Yassen noticed a hot tear in his cheek. It was a tear of pure anger, frustration and disappointment, even somehow a tear of a lonely boy scared by nightmares of the night that would never end, the past that would never fade.

His past might be his weakness, but it was also his strength. It was years ago, when Yassen had understood that because emotions and and perceptions were fragile, the mind could be strong only if it was completely separated – the pain, no matter how unbearable, or the fear of death, no matter how horrifying, could never kill him if he didn't let them to. His wit had always had control over his feelings. And now his wit knew it wouldn't be healthy for him to turn up in front of SCORPIA like this. It was done, he had killed and he had survived. Now he just had to get into the car and leave as quickly as he could, like after every succesful assassination. There was nothing else to do.

Yassen wasn't exceptionally surprised when a KGB agent and six militian officers arrested him at Moscow's aeroport a day after leaving the orphanage – actually he was a little disappointed, because he had believed he was ranked more dangerous than that. After three days SCORPIA came, paid and took him to Venice, still arrested but now guarded by two assassins. Yassen knew that SCORPIA knew everything – and that they could have come much earlier.

Though he hadn't had experience about it, Yassen had never before believed in the legend that man's last words would last forever in his murderer's mind. But during that long week he waited for his trial, locked in a secure room in one of the renaissance palaces SCORPIA owned, he became sure that he could never forget the words that now echoed in his head – "you hear me, you don't dare, you little…"